


All We Have

by Mareel



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Episode Related, Episode Tag, Episode: s02e19 Judgment, First Time, M/M, Rescue Missions, Trekstock Prompt 1: Words to Live By
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 12:01:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mareel/pseuds/Mareel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div class="center">
  <p> </p>
  <p>    <img/><br/></p>
</div>More than just a rescue
            </blockquote>





	All We Have

**Author's Note:**

> _All we have to depend on is each other._ – Jonathan Archer, "Minefield"
> 
> This takes place during and after the events of "Judgment" when Archer was serving a life sentence on the Klingon penal colony of Rura Penthe. Kolos was his Klingon Advocate, sentenced with him. It is Jonathan's voice.

 

It’s been a goddamn long shift. Actually every shift in this frozen hellhole is too long, but I know they extended this one just because they can. Meals and breaks tend to be pretty unpredictable as well, all part of keeping the prisoners off-balance so no routines can develop. 

I’m in pretty good shape, but my shoulders and back are still screaming at me every time I swing the damn mining pick again. I can only imagine how an old man like Kolos is managing to stay on his feet at all. Sheer determination and a refusal to show any weakness would be my guess, though I don’t know if the show is for my benefit or that of our Rura Penthe taskmasters. Maybe both.

I’ve just resolved to slow down as much as I can without attracting unwanted attention from the supervisor when I catch a glimpse of some sort of commotion. It’s on the periphery of the large anteroom to the tunnel we’re working. I haven’t seen any escape attempts in all the time I’ve been here, so I’m guessing it’s new prisoners arriving. One of them breaks off from the rest of the group and heads directly for our tunnel. Wrapped in a hooded dark cloak, this new one doesn’t seem to have negotiated for any warmer furs yet; he’ll suffer in the cold tonight. 

When he gets close to us and pushes the hood back, revealing dark hair and familiar storm-grey eyes, my breath catches and I drop the pickaxe. I catch myself just in time before shouting out to him and keep my voice low, though I can’t contain the smile that accompanies it. “Malcolm!” Thoughts race and collide in my mind – is he here as a prisoner too? Or could it be a rescue? How did he get here? 

His smile is all the answer I need… maybe even an answer to questions I haven’t asked him yet. There’s a light in his eyes and when I reach for his hands, they’re warm and his strong clasp seems to promise more, later, when there is a time and a place. His words, however, are pure Lieutenant Reed.

“Captain. It’s good to see you, sir.”

After I introduce him to Kolos, who was clearly worried that this was someone come to ambush us for our cold-weather gear, Malcolm quickly explains the rescue plan and urges us to hurry – the distraction for the guards won’t last long. I’m disappointed when Kolos insists on staying behind to try to change the system from within, and wish him the all the best as Malcolm again implores me to hurry. When I glance back, he’s lifting the pickaxe again, with a renewed vigor. I hope he makes it. The Klingon Empire would be well served to pay attention to him.

 

________________________________________

 

The freighter that transports us from the icy surface of Rura Penthe is no pleasure boat. It stinks of Klingon food and unwashed bodies. But Malcolm stays close to my side, steering me toward the small cabin that he’d been assigned. 

“It’s going to take us a few days to get out of Klingon space to rendezvous with an _Enterprise_ shuttle. I’d suggest a shower, but that’s apparently not a priority here.” He gives me an apologetic look, adding, “and there is no extra guest cabin available.”

I begin stripping off the layers of furs, remembering how Kolos had somehow appropriated them for me so I wouldn’t freeze. It’s just sinking in that I’m free, that I’m not going to die there. At least it’s warm in here, and the smell isn’t nearly as bad as it was in the corridor and common area. I risk a deep breath, exhaling slowly, trying to relax. 

“Malcolm…” We’ve barely had a chance to speak to each other since the escape, but his eyes haven’t left me for more than a moment since we entered these quarters. “The accommodations are perfectly fine. Luxurious, compared to where I just came from. And I didn’t get to thank you. I know I directed Phlox to tell T’Pol there was to be no rescue attempt… but however you managed it, I’m grateful.”

“We didn’t risk _Enterprise_ , sir. T’Pol had some connections, and I made a few discreet inquiries of my own in case hers didn’t pan out. We used a bit of both, in the end.” He tossed my discarded outer layers into a pile in the corner as he spoke. 

I don’t even want to know right now what kinds of contacts either of them might have had that would have enabled the rescue, but there is something else I need to ask of him.

Reaching for his hand, which he allows me to take with no hesitation, I make my request. “Just for tonight… or just for these days here, if you decide you’re not comfortable with it after that… would you drop the ‘sir’ and just call me Jon? No one else will hear it. I don’t want to embarrass you or make you uncomfortable with…”

“Jon.” With a word he stops what was threatening to turn into backpedaling or even an apology for my presumption. “I’ll try to remember. I might slip – old habits, you know.”

Still clasping his hand, I sit down on the edge of the only bed, suddenly unsure of what’s next. There is so much I’d like to say, but I don’t know how much he wants to hear. His smile in Rura Penthe seemed to promise so much, but maybe it was just the moment.

He shifts his hand, threading his fingers between mine. That feels like more than just reassurance, and I’m trying to control my unexpectedly strong response to it when he uses my name again, more softly this time, and I look up to meet his eyes. They’re darker than I’ve ever seen them and his gaze is intense.

“Jonathan?” Before I can reply, he lifts his free hand to touch my cheek before leaning closer to kiss me. It’s a tentative kiss, almost a question itself, and I answer it with no hesitation. I’ve wanted this for so long, but never thought there would be a right time.

 

________________________________________

 

Stretched out beside Malcolm, his head pillowed on my chest, one of his legs hooked around mine, our breathing finally slows. Stroking damp hair back from his forehead, I finally ask a question I’ve thought about since the moment I saw him in the dilithium mine. “Why did you come for me? I can imagine Trip lobbying for a little cowboy diplomacy, and can even rationalize T’Pol making a few judicious inquiries to the Vulcan High Command, but you went against my direct order that there should be no rescue. I’m not at all sorry you did, just curious about why you would.”

Malcolm shifts in my arms so that he can better see my face as he replies. “You would have done it for me… or for any of your crew.” He pauses, seeming to consider saying more. “You told me something once that I’ve never been able to forget. On the hull of _Enterprise_ , in the sights of that Romulan destroyer in their minefield, you told me that all we have to depend on is each other.”

I nod, remembering our discussion of why I wasn’t a very by-the-book Captain. 

“You might have meant it in general terms, but I took it personally. You’ve saved my life countless times. How could I not try to save yours? You were depending on me.”

I pull him closer, wrapping my arms around him, whispering against his lips as I began kissing him again, “I always have, Malcolm. Always will.”

 


End file.
